


Hard to Kill

by 4vrAFangirl



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: British Sign Language, Deaf Character, Fix-It, Harry Hart Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6068836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4vrAFangirl/pseuds/4vrAFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's last words to him and the shot that rang out just before everything went dark echo in Harry head. Somehow he always thought that death might be more peaceful and serene than this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard to Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Want a peek behind the scenes of writing these stories? Got a prompt or idea for a fic you'd like to see? Drop me a note on my Tumblr: [afangirlreadsfics](http://www.afangirlreadsfics.tumblr.com)

Valentine's last words to him and the shot that rang out just before everything went dark echo in Harry head. Somehow he always thought that death might be more peaceful and serene than this. It's dark, and while it isn’t exactly loud, something just doesn’t feel… right about it all. The sounds of machines, the bustles of people, the static-filled intercoms, it all sounds- distorted somehow, muffled, like he’s got his head under a pillow, or the way a cassette tape begins to sound after too many play-throughs, and that can't be right can it? The afterlife sounds a hell of a lot more like a hospital than anything else. Harry reaches up to rub his eyes, and immediately winces, feeling something stabbing into the back of his hand- an IV, he thinks, and bandages over his head, so not being able to see suddenly makes some sense. So this is a hospital then, and he's survived it all- somehow. But, then... the noise. Why can’t he hear properly? Harry can barely hear anything.

For several terrifying moments, Harry worries as they work the bandages off that perhaps the bullet that tried to kill him may have taken his vision from him too. He keeps his eyes shut for as long as he possibly can. His doctors have already told him the bullet grazed and will leave a permanent scar across his temple, that they cannot be sure of all of the damage it may have caused until they are able to run a series of more comprehensive tests, now he’s woken up. He opens his eyes, and sees... nothing.

There isn't in fact, against all odds, anything wrong with his left, nor his right eye. His eye socket had been fractured and since then repaired, and he would always carry and probably have difficulty regrowing hair over the bullet's trajectory across his left temple, but there is no reason why he shouldn't be able to see except that for some reason his brain and eyes have decided to cease being on speaking terms with one another.

The doctor is quick to assure him he might well recover his vision. Harry suspects though, that his doctors are perhaps trying to make his prognosis sound better than it may actually be to prevent him giving up hope. Cortical blindness, they had called it; likely the result of the trauma to the back of his head when he had fallen to the pavement after being shot. He could wake tomorrow with his vision restored, or perhaps months, a year from now have it mostly restored, or- although the doctors don't like to acknowledge the possibility much, he could spend the rest of his life like this, in the dark.

They are less confident about his hearing loss. He remembers hearing a lot of ringing even before he left the church and met Valentine outside, so it’s hard to say whether it’s the bullet that attempted to take his life, or something that happened in the skirmish before that caused it, but all told he’s lost nearly 90% of his hearing in his left ear, and more than 50% in his right. They advise it may benefit him to begin learning to sign while they look into what options he may have for aids or if he is interested and would be a viable candidate for a cochlear implant.

It’s a lot to take in. And Harry tries (really he does) not to feel so sorry for himself as to think that it might have been better never to have woken again at all, but as Merlin has ever pointed out he's always a bit dramatic. And the sensation of helplessness, of being entirely dependent upon others is never one the older man has enjoyed. He thinks of calling his old friend. Kingsman headquarters, even post V-Day, is sure to be less busy and overwhelmed than where he is currently being cared for. But he stops himself short of asking the nurse for the phone. He’s of no use to anyone like this.

Harry takes to counting: counting the number of steps to the bathroom, the time between visits from nurses so he can have some approximation of the hour of the day. He practices feeding and washing himself. His doctor expresses his concern at Harry's reluctance and even flat out refusal to ask for help, he's concerned that Harry's efforts to reassert his independence may be too much too fast, but Harry is nothing if not a stubborn bastard. He's gotten the hang of quite a bit of it, before there's some talk of when he might be released, and Harry remembers how much larger the world is than the four walls of his hospital room, and the room they use for his therapy. Like it or don’t he’s going to need an aide, at least at first, and more importantly he will need to decide where it is he's going.

Harry doesn't know if he has a house anymore, given his friends all believe him to dead. Kingsman, which has been his life these many years won't have any use for him now. His vision has slowly started to come back to him, but as thrilling as that had been: to wake one morning bleary-eyed, progress since has been depressingly slow. His vision is now about as good as he imagines Mr. Pickle’s was towards the end when he’d begun to develop cataracts.

He could stay here- not Kentucky, necessarily- but in America, perhaps. But an entirely fresh start doesn't sound much less as exhausting than going back home, and while it's infinitely larger than his little hospital room and he won't be able to actually see much of it in his current state, Harry does miss London.

Or least that's what he's telling himself, because even if Harry does miss someone in particular he might find if he goes back home, there is absolutely no point in allowing himself to indulge in thoughts about his protege. For one thing, despite his best efforts, he hasn't been able to find any information whatsoever about one Gary "Eggsy" Unwin. Harry supposes that's a good thing. He's yet to find Eggsy, Michelle, or Daisy's name in any of the casualty lists that have been circulating as bodies are able to be identified and logged in the aftermath of V-Day. And now it's been several months, unbelievably in the wake of the chaos, most victims have been identified, so it's likely he's alive.

Eggsy may even have returned to Kingsman, perhaps have applied for another position. In the wake of at the very least his own presumed death there would have been a vacancy, and Merlin had liked the boy well enough, even if Arthur hadn't. Eggsy was certainly qualified and talented enough to be a knight. If that is the case however, there's no chance as nothing more than a civilian now, he'll ever find out what became of him. Merlin and his staff do the very best job of making sure their organization and its employees remain a well-kept secret. Harry's legally blind, and practically deaf, but he still remembers everything he ever learned, all the skills Kingsman taught him over the years. He doesn't want to hurt or burden anyone, doesn't wish for anyone's sympathy or pity for what he's become now, but he needs to know they're okay- those precious, select few that Harry loves.

Getting back across the pond is a lot more difficult without a private jet, not to mention avoiding using any names or aliases that Kingsman might have flagged. But the world and most countries records are as slow to be updated as they ever have been. A halfway decent forged ID and passport, and a bit of identity theft and Harry is on a plane back to England. It isn't his proudest or even most elegant accomplishment, but Harry doubts the dead-man whose wallet he stole will miss it, and the credit card company's won't catch the error until he's already long gone. Economy and the crying baby two seats back are definitely not as cushy as a private Kingsman transport, but it serves. He wonders briefly how much worse the crying must be for those passengers who can hear perfectly well.

He needs a job. Money so he can get himself a stable situation, but that's no easy task when you're trying to build an entirely new identity. Not to mention keep tags on a few people without being spotted yourself. It's been a long time since he's had to work a more menial, entry-level sort of job, and even if he weren't disabled, Harry suspects he would still be ill-suited for it. But once he's solidified his new identity he manages to secure some disability from the government to get an inexpensive flat. It's hardly home, but Harry supposes it will serve for the time being. He could make it all a lot easier on himself by telling someone he's alive- Merlin, Kingsman, even just one of his old spy contacts, Harry knows, but it wouldn't make the whole thing any easier for them, and he's determined not to be anyone else's burden- whatever that takes.

Harry decides to check in on Eggsy first, because he mistakenly believed that somehow, perhaps with the young man being a less experienced spy, he will have an easier time going unnoticed. It is a grave miscalculation. Eggsy may not have been a spy for very long, but he's grown up in a world with thugs and scum like Dean Baker that's long since taught him to be wary, to practice constant vigilance in order to protect himself and the things and people that he cares about. He notices his tail immediately, forcing Harry to duck into a nearby coffee shop and bookstore to avoid suspicion or any further investigation on Eggsy's part. It's actually decent coffee, but a close call, too close if Harry wants to maintain the fiction of him being dead. But perhaps that is not in fact what the older man wants, or at the very least, not what Harry wants most, because he has to be sure, he has to be certain that Eggsy is alright. And so he finds himself following behind the boy again a few days later under the pretense of walking his new service puppy.

The little Boxer pup is... enthusiastic if nothing else, but even with his vest which officially establishes him as a working dog, it’s clear he’s a work in progress as much as anything else: the small pup often choking himself a bit on his lead when he tries to outpace his master. Harry’s vision has begun to improve once more, enough that pessimistic as he was when he finally got out of the hospital, Harry begins to believe that maybe, just maybe, it might recover to what it was before (or nearly that at least), as his doctor had initially suggested it could. Still it can’t hurt to train to teach the young dog a skill though; it gets them both out of the flat and gives them a sense of purpose, something to do… besides stalking the young man he put forward as the next Lancelot candidate, although they haven't exactly stopped doing that either, just gotten better at keeping a greater distance between them.

Harry tries out the aids they gave him before leaving the hospital a few more time, but mostly it just gives him a headache. Everything seems too loud, no matter what volume setting he adjusts them to, and the constant ringing around just about anything electronic threatens to drive him mad.

Harry's surprised and more than a little frustrated to find his voice doesn't sound the way he remembers. Not just muffled like everything else that echoes through his damaged ears, but sluggish, stumbling over syllables after a few months in a coma and a few more of not being able to properly hear himself, so he does his best to avoid talking, and works double-time on learning to sign. It's hardly a universal language of course, so he carries a travel sized notepad with him for other necessities like giving his order to the waitress at the coffee shop down the street from his new flat. She's learned his regular order and to sign his name when she greets him each morning, and Harry does his best to find it endearing and sweet, even if most days he has to fight frustration that any of this is even necessary, or the urge to tell her she's actually learned the wrong one.

But Harry Hart is dead, he reminds himself. He died in Kentucky just before V-day in that hideous church massacre. Harry is dead because the people he loves and cares about need him to be. Because nobody needs him like this. So he smiles softly, and signs back 'hello' and that she looks quite nice today, despite the fact he knows she won't actually know what he's said, accepting his coffee with 'Colin' written in her loopy scrawl on the side, and leaves a good tip.

The implant is still a possibility, being presumed dead means no money and no insurance for the incredibly costly procedure, but that wouldn't matter now he is back on English soil again. Still even with a way to circumvent the finances of such a thing, Harry would still need more time for his body to recover and adjust to its new condition before he would be approved for the surgery, and someone to work with afterwards, perhaps for the rest of his life. Whether it's his ordeal and injuries, or simply growing older, Harry's become something of a recluse these days. The idea of his hand being forced (yet again, and he's really starting to hate the feeling of not being in control), into letting another person get close to him, not to mention the exhausting process of being always forced to lie about his life and past with Kingsman, sounds exhausting just thinking about.

So it's back to walking and training the new pup, and watching his old protege whenever he's in London. Which isn't actually terribly often, Harry finds. There's little doubt with his prolonged absences and the intermittent injuries he's seen that Eggsy has somehow made himself a Kingsman. Chester must surely hate that, Harry thinks with a slight smile of amusement. But it surprises him how often Eggsy seems to be given away missions, what with his mother and sister being here in London. He wonders if it's on purpose, whether it's a matter of Kingsman being short-handed dealing with the aftermath and fallout of V-day needing all hands on deck for these international missions, or if Eggsy is in fact volunteering for them.

He looks good though. Eggsy wears the new suits he's been fitted with as if he were born to. Walks in them with the kind of confidence he only pretended to have before when Harry first bailed him out at the police station, and Harry finds even without being privy to all his accomplishments, his successes and failures now, that he is quite proud of the boy. He only wishes there might be a way of telling him so. He knows they didn't have much time just the two of them together, knows he left on bad terms and with ugly words between them, but he hopes Eggsy doesn't think too badly of him, or of himself.

For his own part Harry misses the suits. He can't afford anything nearly so nice or well-fitted these days. Not that he doesn't still take some pride in his appearance. His sweaters and slacks are nice enough to convey he hasn't entirely stopped caring. But it's not as if at his age, and with that hideous scar across his temple where hair stubbornly refuses to grow back, a bit near-sighted, and hard enough of hearing to be effectively deaf... Well, nobody's exactly going to be fighting for, or lining up the block for him, are they? And that's.. that's alright, Harry will get used to it. It's not as if he was getting all of Kingsman's honeypot missions or anything before, still the world did indeed seem less sad and lonely when he had at least the illusion of a choice about being alone.

Now he finds himself (or maybe some small traitorous part of him always has been) pining for a boy who doesn't even know he's still alive, and even if he didn't, Eggsy certainly wouldn't want him. How could he?

Coming back to London was a mistake. Staying in Kentucky, or possibly America at large, would have been an even bigger one, but the city's not the same, or more accurately Harry isn't. And trying to find a way of fitting back into it, of returning to something resembling what Harry used to be and to have, it's just proving exhausting and frustrating. He thinks maybe that retiring to a kind of quiet countryside sort of life would probably drive him mad even faster, but at least then he won't be endlessly torturing himself anymore, so he begins making inquiries about residences, something modest to match his admittedly meager means.

He's resting on a nearby park bench, pup parked obediently at his side, his training is coming along remarkably well lately, and waiting for a call back from one of his inquiries when the little boxer nudges his leg with his head to alert him there's someone standing in front of him, perhaps trying to get his attention that he hasn't noticed yet. Harry looks up, and meets Eggsy's familiar sea-green eyes.

And then Eggsy is shouting. Even with most of his hearing gone Harry can tell that much. Passersby have begun staring, looking away when they meet the older man's gaze. But its too muffled, jumbling up in his head even as he tries to decipher it, Eggsy's lips are moving far too fast for Harry to catch much of what is being said. He can guess. And based on the scandalized looking expression on the elderly woman that just hurried past them, he's willing to bet there is some less than gentlemanly language being thrown in there, but it's not enough.

Harry pats the puppy who looks distressed and ready to defend his master from the verbal lashing he is receiving to reassure him that this is okay, before turning to the man in front of him. He frowns, shakes his head and points to his ears, then offers a pointed look towards the puppy in a vest just beside him.

 _I can't hear you._ Harry writes on his notepad before showing it to Eggsy. _I know you must have a lot to say, and I'm sure I deserve all of it, but could you please sit down, and talk a little slower so I can read your lips?_

It's Eggsy's turn to frown now, looking a bit deflated as he studies Harry, the dog, and finally nods taking a seat beside him on the bench and turning to face him.

Harry doesn't know why, but signing has quickly become so much second-nature now he finds himself doing so with his young protege before he can say anything, and quite before Harry can stop himself.

**_You are angry. I understand. I am sorry. You are the last person I ever want to hurt. I-_ **

No, Harry thinks, his fingers freezing up mid-thought- 'I love you' is to universally understood no matter what symbols or gestures he decides to use. It's not untrue. He loves Eggsy. Loves him more than he has ever loved anyone, more than he's capable of loving himself these days, but he's only just come to that realization himself, and it's not what Eggsy wants or needs to hear from him right now. Without his trusty Kingsman watch there's no way to make the boy forget having found out he was alive, in an event this emotionally charged it's difficult to say whether the amnesia cocktail would even work long-term, but Harry's still determined not to be a burden. And telling Eggsy how he feels when there's no way he could ever reciprocate it, Eggsy with his endearing (at times infuriating) big, bleeding heart? It would only serve to adding more weight on his shoulders. He can't do that to him. He won't.

 ** _I never wanted you to find out. What good am I to you like this? Look at me,_** he concludes dejectedly, with a slump of his shoulders.

"I am looking at you 'Arry," Eggsy says softly, and it takes Harry far longer than it should take a former spy to realize that the younger man has understood him. "And do you know what I see?" Harry shakes his head, still stunned by the information that Eggsy knows how to interpret sign.

 ** _A miracle,_** Eggsy signs back, eyes looking both a bit watery, but undeniably fond, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Harry fights the urge to snort, because even now he's reluctant to believe in such things: attributes his still being alive to a squeamish Valentine being a crap shot. But there's not a trace of insincerity on the younger man's face, he truly believes this.

Eggsy shoots him a 'Yeah, I know what you're thinking look', and opens his mouth to say something before hesitating and seeming to think better of it with a frown. Harry is secretly grateful. He's not altogether terrible at reading lips, but individuals each have variants of how they pronounce certain words. He doesn't begrudge Eggsy's natural accent and way of speaking even if it does betray his East London roots, but he's not yet had the time to study the movements of his mouth when he speaks to freelancer sufficiently confident in reading the younger man's lips.

 ** _You were dead Harry. And now you're not. A miracle,_** Eggsy continues to sign.

Technically of course Harry was never dead. Unconscious. Comatose. Disoriented. And finally hiding from those he loves and once knew, but he gets the general sentiment.

 ** _All the miracles in the world, and the man upstairs gave you me,_** Harry signs with something of an amused smirk hiding just behind his lips.

 ** _The only one I've ever asked for,_** Eggsy confirms with a nod. And somehow this knowledge wipes the amusement right out of him. Humbles Harry in a way he'd not been expecting, because with everything this young man has seen and been through in his life, Eggsy might have asked for all manner of miracles or divine interventions before now. That it only occurred to him, or made him desperate enough to ask when he thought Harry was dead was astonishing, and incredibly flattering.

And then Eggsy, his dear, so brave boy, is looking nervous, signing the three words Harry has been too afraid to. Before closing the small gap left between them on the bench, his hand moving up to cup Harry's cheek in his palm while he presses his lips to his, and the whole world seems to stop. It is brief, light, but full of potential, hope, and maybe as Eggsy pulls away, just a little fear.

 ** _Harry, say something? Please,_** the boy signs, worrying his bottom lip when he pulls back.

 ** _I don't really talk much these days,_** Harry signs looking a bit sheepish.

 ** _Please,_** Eggsy asks again. **_Something. Anything, so I know that I haven't just screwed it all up._**

Harry might hate the way his voice sounds now he can't hear himself to adjust it accordingly, but even before Kentucky he was never very good at denying Eggsy anything, and he certainly can't do it to the boy now.

"I'm sorry," Harry chokes out.

**_For everything I said before I left for Kentucky,_ he signs when Eggsy looks confused and a bit fearful of the apology he's being offered. _I owe your father for saving my life. And that might have been what started it all, but its not the reason for everything I have done since. You are. And I love that you are so kind and caring even after everything you have been through. It doesn't matter that you couldn't shoot JB. I was going to teach you how to recognize a blank. I was going to help you find another way into Kingsman when I got back. And then once you were a knight so that no one could accuse you of any unfair tactics or advantage to get the job, I was going to ask you to dinner._**

Eggsy gapes at him for such a long time that Harry begins to worry maybe he's made a mistake. At the very least perhaps he's signed too quickly, or exhausted the young man's knowledge and understanding of the language. Maybe that's why he asked him to speak. Harry starts to sign it all again, slower this time, before Eggsy reaches out and arrests his hands, clasping them within his own, before gently letting them go to reply.

**_No I understood you, I'm just- having a hard time believing it._** Eggsy pauses for a moment. **_You really were going to ask me to dinner once I was a proper agent? Like a date?_**

**_Would you have said yes_** Harry's fingers ask nervously.

Eggsy laughs, shaking his head, and Harry is pretty sure he reads 'are you fuckin' joking' from Eggsy's lips, before the young man is signing again.

 ** _You better not be kidding around Harry Hart,_** he warns with what Harry knows to be an attempt at a stern look, but the older man can see through well enough to know Eggsy is nervous, scared. Harry knows his background, and this boy well enough to know how difficult it is for him to trust anyone, to let them in.

Harry shakes his head firmly. **_I wouldn't joke. Not about something like this,_** he assures him.

 ** _You like me,_** Eggsy asks, still managing to look surprised, disbelieving that this could possibly be true. Harry shakes his head again, because no-

"I don't like you, Eggsy. I am in love with you," Harry confesses finally, because, well it seems it's now or never, even as he's inwardly cringing a little at the way the muffled words sound playing back in his ear, the way he stumbles over words he should be able to make without being able to hear himself, how can't tell how quiet or loud he is being with his proclamation. The way one elderly woman looks at him while passing by with her cart from the shops he thinks he's probably made the announcement a little more public than he'd meant to.

 ** _I'm sorry,_** Harry signs immediately, biting his lip and dummying up with a sinking feeling of failure. **_I didn't mean to- I am screwing this all up. I worked it all out in my head perfectly, how I as going to tell you and ask you out. Not that I expect you to want me now I'm-_** Sure the young man had kissed him a few moments ago, but sooner or later that overwhelming sense of relief that he was alive would begin to fade, and the rush of emotions that must be muddled because of it, much as Harry hates to think about it, will too. But Eggsy is stopping his hands once more with his own, before gently allowing one hand to come up and cup the older man's cheek in his palm.

"Stop," Eggsy says slowly, loudly, deliberately so that Harry can read the word on his lips, waiting for him to nod to show that he's understood.

 ** _I don't want it to be perfect. If it all went as flawlessly as you hoped and planned it, I'd still be terrified I was dreaming all of this,_** Eggsy smiles patiently. **_Let them hear us. I love that we're scandalizing the local dog-walkers and pensioners. And I love you. Still. Just like this._** Eggsy promises. _**I'll take you in any state, or way I can, if it means having you back. I thought you died, that I would never see you again.**_

"Please don't leave me again," Eggsy says, and it they must be whispered because Harry's pitiful ears can't even make out the other's voice over the other ambient sounds of the park and life around them, but it doesn't matter. Harry reads his lips, and his face well enough to know what is and what isn't being said, and the truth of the matter is that now Eggsy knows he's alive, Harry can't leave him again, not now that it's a choice and knowing what leaving might do to the young man he cares so much for, and himself.

Harry shakes his head. "No. I won't," he promises. Forcing himself to say the words aloud so he can be held to them, even if he detests speaking, being forced to confront his new disability. Eggsy beams, eyes brimming with unshed tears, and in an instant he is pulling Harry into him and into the fiercest hug he has ever received.

The pup, whose training is going splendidly so far considering Harry hasn't attempted to train a dog in years, and has never gone through the classes and training with one to become a hearing dog, is finally growing impatient. A loud bark interrupts and separates them just as Eggsy seemed to be contemplating leaning in for another kiss, making the boy laugh.

 _ **Did Merlin give you him?**_ Harry shakes his head. _**No? I mean he is not exactly like the other new recruit puppies, Merlin said he always...**_ Eggsy signs, before abruptly coming to a halt. _**Harry Hart, does your best friend still think you are dead? Fucking hell we have to get you to headquarters. He'll want to see you. And ask you questions, and probably get you fitted with all kinds of gadgets to help with everything!**_ Eggsy all but bolts up off of their shared park bench in his excitement and enthusiasm, but Harry is slower to stand.

 _ **Harry,**_ Eggsy signs questioningly. 

It's stupid, Harry thinks. Eggsy is right, Merlin is his best friend, and now he's clearly decided to hell with staying hidden, and staying away from the people that he loves it only makes sense to go see him, to tell him that he's alive. And Merlin being the real-life wizard that he is will no doubt have plenty of sleek and high-tech solutions to make his life easier now that his hearing is so limited, or will begin making such things immediately. The fear that he might be more a burden than anything else, anything more positive, still lingers in the back of his mind, but Harry is too desperately pleased to have something, someone so familiar and warm back in his altered and confusing life to care much now.

 _ **I was hoping I could be selfish, and spend a little more time with you first,**_ Harry admits to Eggsy's unasked query about why he might be sluggish to respond to the idea of going in to headquarters. He's expecting Eggsy to laugh, to offer up some sort of 'we have all the time in the world' sort of response, but he might have known after everything that's happened Eggsy knows that isn't true at all. They have no idea how long they have from one day to the next and can't really promise one another anything. Eggsy is amazing, but has a dangerous job, Harry takes care of himself, but he's not exactly a young man anymore. The best either of them can do is to give each other the time they have now and cherish every minute, every moment of it. So Eggsy smiles, and gently offers up his hand to Harry, lacing his fingers in his when he stands and takes it.

"Let's go home," Eggsy says, still smiling, and Harry nods.

He always meant for Eggsy to get everything, well him and Merlin, but Merlin doesn't really have much need or use for his things. Still it's something of a surprise to find that Eggsy has kept and lived in his house in his absence, even more so to see that he's changed very little of it. Kingsman would have supplied him with a place of his own, but he's elected to give the flat to his mother and baby sister instead.

 _ **It was not easy.**_ Eggsy admits to the question Harry hasn't even managed to ask yet, after they've hung up their coats, and JB and Harry's now unleashed and de-vested pup begin investigating and smelling one another curiously. _**You did an incredible job of working your way under the skin in a short amount of time. But I was going to be missing you no matter what I did, at least being here I felt closer to you,**_ Eggsy admits with a slightly sheepish shrug.

Harry doesn't quite know how to respond to that. He wants to apologize. He's just about to when Eggsy swiftly changes the subject, nodding towards the two dogs who've now snuggled up together at the foot of the couch in the living room.

 _ **I think JB likes Mr. Pickles the Second.**_ Harry laughs and shakes his head. _**No? You'll saddle a poor dog with Mr. Pickles, but no juniors, huh? So what's this guy's name then?**_

"Bob," Harry replies, causing the pup to open his eyes and momentarily lift his head before determining his master doesn't actually need anything from him and laying back down with a lazy huff.

_**Bob?** _ Eggsy signs, and Harry doesn't even need to hear his voice to know if he were speaking right now it would be dripping with disbelief. He's laughing again, and that Harry thinks is one of the things he misses hearing most, having only a scant few moments in his memory before now. Perhaps he will eventually indulge Merlin in testing out some gadgets to help him afterall.

"That ain't no name for a dog, bruv," Eggsy chuckles shaking his head.

_**Alright I'll bite, where did you get the idea to name him that?** _ _****_

_**Well it had to be something I could easily say**_ Harry begins with a sort of a shrug. _**And Merlin always said part of the reason I had such a hard time training Mr. Pickles was because his name was too complex. Too many syllables.**_ Eggsy nods. 

_**Yeah, still not seeing how you arrived at Bob.** _

_**Have you ever seen the movie Nikita?** _

_**I feel as though we have had this conversation before. No Harry, I still haven't seen Nikita, alright? I thought about it, but after you were gone I... I couldn't.** _

_**Would you like to?** _

Eggsy seems to consider this a moment before nodding with a small smile. "Yes, Harry."

Harry finds and puts the DVD in, and sets up the subtitles, before setting down on the couch. It's almost strange being back in his house again after so long away from it, but as the younger man settles down beside him, curling up against his shoulder, Harry thinks that it feels far more like home now than it has in years.

 _ **You know Merlin is going to kill us for stopping to watch a movie before we told him, right?**_ Eggsy signs with a small smirk.

 _ **He will have his work cut out for him then,**_ Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to the crown of Eggsy's head. _**I am a difficult man to kill.**_ He feels Eggsy's laugh echoing through his body where he is pressed up against him, and then the younger man gently taking Harry's arm to wrap around him and nuzzling even closer as the movie starts.


End file.
